


Lean on Me

by fated_desires



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Comfort/Angst, Danger, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Mystery, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Pining, Secrets, Slow Burn, Summer Vacation, Werewolf Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_desires/pseuds/fated_desires
Summary: When captured and sent to Malfoy Manor during the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. This is common knowledge. What no one knows, however, is that Fenrir Greyback enforced his own unique form of torture and suffering on Hermione that day. While carrying her back to the dungeons, he bit her and force-fed her a potion developed to create a new breed of werewolf that would make a more deadly soldier for Voldemort's army. She has kept her secret for a year, with the help of only Andromeda Tonks from whom she sought assistance when she did not know who else to turn to after Remus's passing. Andromeda found employment for her at a renowned country club for Wizarding high society where she was given the resources to keep her unique disposition under control. She had been able to successfully isolate herself from everyone she knew, until Draco Malfoy began his regular visits to the country club in the summer of 1999. He is persistent, and he is smart, too smart. She finds the safety of her isolation threatened and soon realizes that this man can only be her undoing, or her salvation, as he starts to slowly whittle away at her resolve and she finds herself losing control.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger, dramione
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came to me after listening to Lana Del Rey's song Chemtrails Over The Country Club. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Expect updates every two weeks on Saturday, although more frequent updates may happen along the way. 
> 
> No infringement intended.

Today marked a year and one week since what had been coined The Battle of Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy found himself reflecting on it more often than usual. He had been able to push away his memories of that time in his life with little difficulty after the war. The occlumency he had learned from Snape and his deranged aunt still proved useful to him, even in a world that didn’t require he shield his mind from invasion by an all powerful Dark Lord.

His memories still plagued him, however, often resurfacing in the form of night terrors, and he worked tediously to ensure they remained locked away, strengthening the walls around them every morning.

One memory in particular had constantly terrorized him. A memory of a girl laid down and tortured on his drawing room floor.

Bellatrix Lestrange, his deranged aunt, had never been one for mercy and that day was no exception. She ruthlessly tortured the girl for information the girl swore over and over again that she did not have. Her screams still echo in his mind at night despite his best effort to occlude, her shaking body on his cold stone floor still appears so vividly in his nightmares.

His mother had since remodeled their drawing room, but even still, he couldn’t bring himself to enter it.

Having been a year since the event, he knew that guilt was the reason the nightmares persisted. The lack of closure. He never had the opportunity to approach her, not that she would have even let him, and apologize for his part in her suffering. She had all but vanished from wizarding society in the week following the battle.

He would give anything to be able to go back and step up to Bellatrix and stop her from ever laying a hand on her.

What no one knows, aside from maybe his mother, is that he did help her in that moment. But he chose the cowards path.

The dagger his aunt had used to carve into the girl’s arm was laced with a lethal heart-stopping curse. She would have been dead mere hours after the poison had seeped into her blood and eventually reached her heart. It would have been a cruel and painful death.

He was familiar with the curse, having witnessed his aunt use it on a previous victim. He had since researched the counter curse, fearing she would one day turn the weapon on her own sister, his mother. His aunt was pure evil, not a trace of humanity could have been found within her soul and he would not have put it past her to murder her own blood for her Dark Lord’s cause.

While the girl lay on his drawing room floor, Bellatrix hunched over her piercing her skin repeatedly with the knife, he stood near the fireplace a ways across the room, safe from discovery of anyone but his mother who he knew would never betray him. She held loyalties only to him and his father, she was no Death Eater. He cast the countercurse repeatedly, under his breath, with each new slice of the knife he would begin a new cycle of the countercurse.

It was a powerful spell and quickly drained his energy, but he had not faltered. He was determined to save this girl’s life. She did not deserve to die, and he would not allow her to die in his home, at the hands of one of his blood relatives.

He was initially unsure if the countercurse had been effective, it was only when the girl managed an escape alongside her friends, that he confirmed that the poison would not be the cause of her death.

He knew she was alive, knew she did not die that day in his home, under his watch, yet he could not reconcile his role in her torture. It was saving her from the deadly effects of a dark curse that led him to pursue a career as a curse breaker at the Ministry of Magic. After a year of rigorous training, he had passed his examinations and was offered a full-time position. He is to start at the end of summer, and until then he planned, for the first time in many years, to spend his time unwinding and allowing himself some much needed relaxation.

Pansy Parkinson, one of his closest friends and oddly enough the only girl he had ever dated, had convinced him this was just what he needed. And what better place to relax than the Cherise Country Club.

His family had been members for as long as he could remember. He would spend many summers of his childhood there, playing quidditch on their vast fields, riding the various winged horses on the grounds, and lounging by the waters of the large pool.

Yes, it would be a suitable place for him to unwind before the start of his demanding career. The company of his best mates wouldn’t be so bad either, as they had all been so busy in the past year and had not been able to properly spend time together.

That first morning of summer he had occluded, readied himself and taken the floo to the country club where he was to meet his friends for brunch.

What he was not expecting upon exiting the fireplace, was to find _her_. And he most certainly did not expect to find her working the front desk.

There, engaged in, from the look on her face what could only be a most serious conversation with an older club member, stood Hermione Granger. The girl that had haunted his dreams for the past year. The girl he had tried to find even a trace of countless times and come up empty handed.

Had she been here all this time? Surely she was not an employee at a country club. This could not be the desired career for someone like her, the brightest witch of their age. He was dumbfounded.

As he looked on at her, watching how she offered assistance to the now calm club-member, his curiosity only further ignited. She looked different. Older. Her hair was still the same unruly mess of brown curls, that much was evident, even as it was tied at the nape of her neck into a loose bun. Yet she looked tired. No, exhausted.

His heart clenched at seeing her in this state. He had not saved her life so that she could be overworked back to the brink of death at a damned country club. What sort of work could they possibly have her doing here that would tire her so?

She finished aiding the other club-member and he started approaching the front desk, slowly. She had not yet seen him, her back was turned now, minding some paperwork on the opposite desk. He tensed as he neared. He was uncertain how she would react to seeing him. The memory of her being tortured on his drawing room floor threatened to resurface in his mind as he walked closer to her, but he willed it back.

He had to remain composed. He prepared himself for her inevitable onslaught of derogatory remarks. When he had known her in school she had never been one to mince words. She always said exactly what was on her mind, her ferocity was something he had admired although he never told her as much, nor did he allow himself to admit that he had admired her. She was Gryffindor’s princess and he was a Syltherin blood supremacist and the youngest Death Eater to ever join Voldemort’s ranks.

It was a part of his history he was ashamed of, and he knew he could never have allowed himself to entertain any thoughts of befriending Hermione Granger. Maybe in another life they could have been friends, they were a lot alike, he had noticed. He had always noticed, even though she never noticed him.

That wasn’t completely accurate, she had noticed him, but only as a “foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach,” as she had so poignantly called him in their third year before abruptly landing a rather hard punch to his jaw. In hindsight he had most probably deserved it, but even in that moment, with his jaw stinging from the impact of her fist to his face, he couldn’t help but admire her. What other 13 year old girl would have the courage to do a thing like that?

He was at the counter now, and her back was still turned, she had still not noticed his presence. There was a bell on the counter, but he thought it’d be a bit too pretentious of him to ring it when she merely had her back turned.

“I’d like to check in,” he said.

Short and to the point, enough for her to turn around and face him so he could gage her reaction and calculate a proper response from there.

“Of course,” she said, her voice flat and lacking the vigor that he had always noticed it carried.

She had yet to look up at him. She bent below the counter and pulled out a ledger.

“Just sign your name right on the next open slot and note the time of your arrival,” she instructed, as she turned the ledger around to face him and nudged a quill that was sat in an inkpot in his direction.

Only once he reached for the quill did she finally bring her eyes up and meet his gaze. She looked worse than he had initially thought, he noted. She had horrible dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was pale, almost grey. She had lost weight as well, she was very thin, her cheekbones far more prominent on her face than they had ever been. The uniform she wore was approximately two sizes too large for her small frame, but if he had to guess he would say the rest of her body looked much the same.

They stayed like that, for what felt like several minutes but couldn’t have been more than one, until she broke the silence.

“Welcome to the Cherise Country Club, are you a new member?” her voice hollow and clinical.

He searched her eyes for an explanation for her sterile response. He had fully been expecting her to demand him to leave, to call him any foul name she could recollect. This was not the Hermione Granger he knew. It was almost as if she didn’t even remember him, or was choosing not to. He chose to ignore her question and press her further for a response.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be working at a place like this,” he stated, flitting his gaze between her eyes trying to figure out what was running through her head at that moment.

Her firm expression faltered for the barest second, her eyes pinching ever so slightly as if she were trying to push back a thought.

“I wouldn’t have expected an ex-death eater to grace the club either, but here we are,” she clipped, her face once again returned to the firm façade.

He laughed, that was more like the Hermione he knew.

“Good one Granger, thought we lost you there for a minute,” he threw her a smirk, and set his gaze to the ledger as he moved to sign his name.

“And to answer your question,” he started, finishing off the sign in and returning his gaze back up to hers, “my family have been members of this club for as long as I can remember.”

“I’ve never seen you here,” she said, her head tilting ever so slightly to the right in curiosity.

“Yes, well, I haven’t had much cause to visit,” he admitted, “I was reminded of the club by a friend who insisted I give it a shot, I was assured I’d find something here that would capture my interest and I have to say they didn’t disappoint.”

He smirked again and set the quill he had been twirling around back down in the inkpot. She was seemingly unfazed by his remark, her stare set on his eyes.

“The club has remained in relatively the same state since its opening,” she began, “the owner is a stickler for consistency so I’m afraid you’ll find nothing new to hold your interest here.”

“Oh? But I’ve already found something,” he drawled, “ _You’re here_. And that makes for an exquisite mystery in and of itself. Hermione Granger, brightest witch of our age working front desk at a country club? My interest is piqued.”

“Sorry to have to ruin the fun of your little mystery, but I just enjoy the fresh air and seclusion of the country,” she said as she picked up the ledger and bent to place it back in its spot under the counter.

When she rose back up she looked surprised that he was still standing there. She had expected him to walk away, to have that bring an end to their conversation, well that was just too bad because he wasn’t quite finished with her yet.

“Oh, Really?” he mused, a smile playing on the corners of his lips.

She answered with a simple nod.

“See I just don’t buy that,” he quipped.

She furrowed her brows ever so slightly and her hands twitched at her sides. For a moment he was convinced she was going to punch him again just as she had all those years ago, but just when he thought she was going to strike, her face once again became a blank, emotionless canvas.

What possible reasons could she have for holding back her reaction from him? He couldn’t fathom that she was actually worried about her position and causing a scene. He couldn’t understand why she would ever have accepted it in the first place.

“If that is all you needed,” she cleared her throat, “ _to sign in_ , then I have plenty of other things to attend to.”

She walked out from behind the counter and started making a beeline for the opposite hall.

He wasn’t sure what happened to the Hermione Granger he knew, but she would never have walked away from him without a confrontation. He didn’t know what overcame him in that moment; maybe it was genuine curiosity, maybe it was concern, or a bit of both. Whatever the case, what he knew was that he wasn’t going to let her get away until he had an answer, so he turned around and started to follow her down the opposite hall.

“I didn’t say we were done with our conversation, Granger,” he hissed, as he sped up to catch up with her.

She was increasing her pace, but he was right on her heels and was able to grab hold of her left arm and pull her to a stop halfway down the hall.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” she said slowly in a voice that was entirely too calm for the situation.

“Not until you tell me what you’re really doing working here.” he said, his tone holding a hint of worry as he looked down into her large auburn eyes and saw how vacant they were, “What’s happened to you, Granger?”

She looked back at him for a long moment, seemingly gaging his question. He didn’t blame her. He would have been just as hesitant to trust him if he were in her shoes.

She blinked, and asked in a monotonous voice, “Since when are you concerned for my well-being?”

It was more of an observation than a question, he noted. She didn’t seem to want an answer. He loosened his grip on her arm by the slightest amount. He didn’t know how to respond to a question like that. What excuse could he possibly give her? They had never been friends before, never even been friendly.

“That’s what I thought.” she said in the same eerily calm tone, the subtle twitch of her eyes the only sign she felt anything about the moment.

“Draco! There you are! We were starting to worry you’d bailed on us.” Pansy said as she approached from a room a little ways down the hall.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” she asked, her gaze passing from Draco to his grip on Hermione’s arm and back.

“No, you’re not.” Hermione answered before he had a chance to get any words out himself, “I was just showing Malfoy to the dining hall, and I believe you can show him the rest of the way from here.”

She wrenched her arm free from his loosened grip and all Draco could do was watch her with curious eyes as she started making her way down the hall and back to the front desk.

“Have a wonderful day!” she threw back after she’d made it a few paces down the hall, not bothering to turn her head around.

“Now just what in Merlin’s name have you gotten yourself into now, Draco?” Pansy asked in a concerned tone.

He turned his head back from facing down the now empty hall that Granger had stormed down, to look at Pansy. He could see the concern in her dark brown eyes as they flitted back and forth between his grey ones.

“I just-” he started, before realizing he didn’t have to come up with an explanation for Pansy, “I honestly don’t know.”

She laced her arm through his and started walking them in the direction of the dining hall.

“I was just as shocked as you were when I first came to the club a few weeks ago and saw that Granger was working here,” she explained, “she fed me some line about loving the country air, but I don’t think that’s it, she looks ill. Don’t you think she looks ill?”

Draco was silent for a moment. If Pansy had noticed her palid appearance too, then maybe she really was ill. Draco stopped dead in his tracks as they reached the large french doors to the dining hall. What if she wasn’t just ill? What if she was dying?

What if the countercurse he had used to save her life that night a little over a year ago hadn’t been as successful as he’d initially thought? What if all he had done was delay the effects of the poison, and it was still killing her, just slowly.

“Draco,” Pansy called out, trying to bring his attention back to her, “Draco, are you alright?”

He turned his gaze from the wall he had been fixated on back to Pansy. She looked worried. He hadn’t seen her so worried since before the war ended. He couldn’t bring himself to get her involved in his mess. She didn’t deserve that.

“It’s nothing, I was just remembering coming down this hallway years ago with my family, and it reminded me how much things have changed.”

It wasn’t convincing, as far as excuses went, but he hoped it would be enough to get Pansy to change the subject.

“Oh, Theo said the same thing.” she noted, offering him one more hesitant glance before deciding, to his relief, to drop the subject and reaching out to open the doors, “well I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, enough of the depressing nostalgia, this summer is about relaxing and enjoying ourselves for the first time in far too long!”

He offered her the best smile he could muster as they walked through the dining hall and made their way to the table out on the terrace where Blaise and Theo were sat with drinks already in their hands.

“A little too early to drink isn’t it?” Draco teased, as he reached out to hug Theo who had just stood from the table.

“Never too early to drink in the summer mate,” Theo said before engulfing Draco in a bear hug, “How’ve you been, you arse? Haven’t seen or heard from you since you went and got yourself a position with the ministry, thought you’d forgotten about your old pals here.”

Theo brought a hand to his heart in mock hurt, before turning to share a laugh with Blaise and Pansy.

“Owls work both ways you know?” Draco said with a smile.

“If that’s the case then yours must need replacing!” Blaise said as he moved in front of Theo and wrapped Draco in a hug, “because for all the letters I sent, I should have received at least half as many back, they must have gotten lost along the way eh?”

He spent the next hour listening to his closest friends reminisce and talk about the future, but his mind was far away from the topics at hand. His foot was tapping up and down as he counted each passing minute.

One more minute of the poison seeping into Granger’s veins. One more minute of her slowly being eaten away. One more minute closer to her heart stopping.

Suddenly he couldn’t bring himself to waste another moment. He had to rush home and look up possible antidotes for the miscast countercurse. He needed to fix his mistake. He was the only one who knew about the cursed blade Bellatrix had used on Hermione on his drawing room floor. He was the only one that could save her, and he would not allow himself to fail her a second time.

He made some excuse to his friends for having to leave so soon. They tried to convince him to stay a while longer but in the end settled for his agreement to meet them there again in two days.

Two days. Would Granger survive two more days? How long until the poison reached her heart? He needed to evaluate her, he needed to check the progression of the curse in her system. How would he convince her to allow him anywhere near enough to her to perform any diagnostic spells?

He entered the lobby and pushed his way through a group of people, to the fireplace. He grabbed the floo powder and in the split second between when he said his destination and when he dropped the floo powder from his hands, his eyes met hers across the room where she stood behind the counter.

She looked lost in her own body, he realized. She was mere sparks of the Granger he had known, and he vowed he would bring her back to herself.

It was his fault she was suffering, and he would not allow her to suffer any longer.


	2. Chapter 2

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” she said to him slowly, careful to maintain her calm.

She hadn’t had an outburst in over a year. She’d made certain to avoid any and all situations that could provoke her. She had to, since the last time she lost control. Leave it to Malfoy to be the first person to test her patience and almost get under her skin. But it would have to remain an _almost_. 

He was looking at her with a determined expression, however. He wasn’t going to back down. He wanted a reaction from her. Well, that was just too bad because she wouldn’t give it to him. 

“Not until you tell me what you’re really doing working here.” he said, and she could swear she heard a flicker of concern in his voice with his next words, “What’s happened to you, Granger?”

She stared back at him for a long moment, shocked to hear those words fall from _his_ lips. That question―it was always that same question. The question she’d had to answer many times in the past year.

She’d heard it from Ron, who hadn’t been able to understand why she ended their relationship right when they finally had a future to look forward to. 

She’d heard it from Harry, who couldn’t believe that she was content with a job at a country club, couldn’t fathom she had turned down the numerous job offers she, along with the rest of The Golden Trio had been presented with by the Ministry for their efforts in winning the war. 

She’d even heard it from Ginny who―even though she had tried her hardest to support Hermione in what she thought was her decision to step away from the spotlight and not be actively trying to save the world for once in her life―had too, eventually asked the question. She had voiced her concern after a few months of isolation had turned into several months, and then a year. 

But these were her friends, people who cared for her, and Draco Malfoy was certainly never someone she had considered a friend―let alone someone who would have thought twice about her well-being.

She blinked, and took a quiet, steadying breath, “Since when are you concerned for my well-being?”

She thought he would scoff at her, expected it really. Thought he would give some snarky remark and sneer in her face about how she dare think he would care for a mudblood. That’s what she’d always been to him, just another “filthy mudblood.” He had told her as much countless times during their years together at school. 

But his reaction was something else altogether. 

For a moment, he looked hurt...before his features contorted into ones of shock. How could he be shocked to hear her say that? If this had been a year ago she would have pressed him for an explanation, or goaded one out of him, but this was now and she couldn’t afford to play his games. It must be part of some game he was trying to play, she reasoned. He was always playing games. He just wanted to get a rise out of her. She chose not to comment on his reaction at all. She had no time for games, and she was tired. 

“That’s what I thought.” she said to him.

His lips parted as if he was going to say something else, but she’d never know what he would’ve said because he was interrupted by a distinct, honeyed voice. Pansy Parkinson. She’d never been so relieved to hear that voice. 

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” Pansy asked.

Draco’s hand was still wrapped around her arm, but he was distracted by Pansy’s question.

“No, you’re not.” she answered quickly, before Draco could respond for himself, “I was just showing Malfoy to the dining hall, and I believe you can show him the rest of the way from here.”

Draco met her gaze again, as if he had forgotten she was standing there and that he was still holding onto her arm. Hermione used his momentary confusion to her advantage, and freed herself from his hold.

She took off before either Draco or Pansy could get another word in otherwise. 

“Have a wonderful day!” she called out to them, not bothering to look back at them. 

She marched back to the front desk and found Westley standing behind the counter just as a member finished signing in.

“It’s not like you to leave the front desk unattended,” he remarked jokingly.

Westley had started working at Cherise the same week she had. Many employees were seasonal, but he had renewed his contract every season, same as her. In a year’s time they had become close friends―as close as she could allow herself to get to another person without risking their safety. 

Westley was different from Ron, Harry, and Ginny. He hadn’t known her before. His expectations weren’t nearly as high and he never once questioned her for remaining employed at the club after a year. 

“I had to deal with a rather unruly guest,” she responded simply, and he laughed.

“Anyone I know?” he asked, taking a look around the lobby before hopping up and taking a seat on the back counter.

“No, he’s never come here before,” she said leaning on the back counter next to him. 

“ _He?_ ” he asked, turning and raising a brow at her, “and so the plot thickens. Tell me,”―he rested his head in his hands and looked over at her expectantly― “is this unruly guest _attractive_?”

“Only if you like complete arse’s.” she deadpanned.

“Oh, this is just too good,” he laughed, “you know those are the _best_ ones.”

She shook her head at him as she picked up the day’s schedule. Westley persisted with his interrogation for a few minutes longer but when it became clear that she wasn’t going to entertain his wild imagination, he eventually gave up. 

She agreed to meet him by the lake for her lunch hour like they always did on Monday afternoons, and he left her to her work, returning to his desk in the back office. 

An hour later, Malfoy came storming down the hall, with a look on his face that she couldn’t quite place. He pushed, rather aggressively, past a group of people who were standing near the floo. He met her gaze just before he was consumed by the green flames and the look in his eyes left her with an endless flurry of questions racing through her mind. 

She’d hoped this would be the last she saw of him, but if his earlier remarks and actions were any indication, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be so lucky. 

She would have to be alert and prepared the next time she saw him. She would not allow him to ruin all the progress she’d made. She would not allow him to get under her skin. In a year she had developed a routine to keep her condition under control, and she would allow nothing to change that.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


By the next morning, Draco hadn’t slept. He’d stayed up all night in the vast library of Malfoy Manor, scouring thick tomes for any and all information he could find on the curse that Bellatrix had placed on the blade, along with any ramifications of a miscast countercurse. 

He was stuck. With every additional text he picked up, the likelihood of her condition being a result of a miscast countercurse decreased even further. 

The timeline simply didn’t add up. She should have been dead three months after the incident at the manor if he had truly miscast the countercurse. The only logical explanation he could think of was that there was another factor to the cursed blade that he wasn’t aware of. He wouldn’t put it past Bellatrix to have added another toxin or curse to the blade as a failsafe that would start a slow assault on the victim if the first was successfully countered. She was that conniving. 

Yes, he was sure that’s what it had to be. And if that was the case then he couldn’t spare any time. 

How in the hell was he going to get her to allow him to run a diagnostic? There was no possible reason he could come up with. He would have to stun her and then obliviate her so that she would have no memory of the examination. He was skilled with memory charms, having had to use them during his time as a death eater. He had done it without a second thought. 

But somehow, without his understanding why, having it be Granger who’s memory he would have to tamper with didn’t sit right with him. It made his stomach wrench just thinking about it. But there was no other option. There was simply no way he could gain her trust quickly enough, and he couldn’t risk the curse or toxin spreading further into her system.

He wasn’t due to meet Pansy, Blaise and Theo until tomorrow, and he hoped they weren’t planning to pay the club a visit today. He couldn’t afford another interruption like the one they had experienced yesterday with Pansy. 

He quickly spelled the books back to their proper places on the shelves and collected his notes, before leaving the library to go to his room and shower before leaving for the club. He didn’t make it five paces into the foyer before he was met with the intent stare of his mother. Narcissa looked at her son curiously, surely taking in the sight of his disheveled appearance and the inevitable dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. 

“Is everything alright, Draco?” she asked, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder, “did you spend the entire evening in the library?” she looked knowingly down at the parchment in his hand, and the ink stains on his fingers.

“Just a bit of research,” he offered her, before brushing off her arm and stepping past her to the grand staircase, “I’m alright mother, I’m heading to the country club again today, I’ll be back for dinner.”

He heard his mother huff in disapproval but he didn’t bother looking back at her as he took the stairs two at a time. He was sure she would interrogate him at dinner but he would think about an excuse then. 

He showered quickly, took two pepper-up potions he’d asked one of the elves for, and made sure his notes were in his pocket before he stepped into the fireplace. 

When he arrived at the club and stepped out of the fireplace, he was shocked to see that Granger wasn’t standing behind the front counter. Instead, he was greeted by a tall bloke with curly brown hair and round glasses. 

“Hello, welcome to the Cherise Country Club!” he trilled, “How may I help you?”

Draco spared a glance at the golden name plate on the man’s blazer, _Westley_. 

“I’m actually looking for Gr-” he coughed, clearing his throat, “Hermione Granger. Is she in today?”

“Oh, I see! You don’t happen to be that _unruly_ guest she was going on about yesterday?” he asked, his face twisting in amusement.

Draco fought the urge to reach over the counter, grab this Westley by the tie around his neck, and threaten to beat his face in until he offered him a straight answer. No matter how badly he wanted to, he knew that wouldn’t score him any points with Granger and he needed to be on her good side today if he was going to get her alone.

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said, “Is she in?”

“Oh she’s just gonna love this,” Westley smirked, “I’ll go grab her, she was showing a guest to the game room.”

He stepped out from behind the counter and down the hall. While he was waiting it occurred to Draco just how he would get her alone with him. If showing guests around the property was in her job description, and she had shown such restraint with him yesterday, surely she wouldn’t disagree with giving him a tour at the risk of angering her boss? No matter how much she would hate it.

A few minutes later, Westley rounded the corner with Granger in tow. 

“She’s all yours,” Westley said with a wink, as he pushed her in front of him, “I’ll cover front desk Hermione, I’d like to avoid kitchen duty at all costs if I can help it.”

Westley laughed, but Granger just rolled her eyes at him. She turned her gaze to Draco and her expression gave none of her thoughts away, not a single emotion was readable.

Being an Occlumens himself, he was almost certain she was one too. Although this revelation puzzled him because she hadn’t, to his knowledge, been one during the war. What reason could she have to take up occlumency once the war was over?

“Can we go somewhere a little more private to talk?” Draco asked her, nodding his head towards Westley, who was not-so-graciously staring straight at the two of them. 

She looked at Westley who just shrugged at her, before she motioned for Draco to follow her to the large doors leading to the courtyard that stood behind them. Once outside, Hermione walked across the terrace and an expanse of lawn, to a Gazebo that stood on the edge of the lake. It was still in plain sight of the guests on the terrace, but no one was near enough to overhear their conversation.

“You have five-minutes, Malfoy.” she said, crossing her arms across her chest and looking up at him.

The sun was shining directly into her eyes and through her squinting he could see that they looked the color of honey in the light. He stepped in front of the sun casting a shadow over her and saving her from having to squint through their entire conversation. He wanted to be able to gage her reaction, and her eyes had been the only give away yesterday.

“I wanted to apologize, Granger,” he said, “I was a dick yesterday. I shouldn’t have badgered you after you told me your reasons for working here.”

She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes gave a slight twitch even though they were shielded from the sun, before stepping away and walking towards the edge of the gazebo. She laid her arms across the railing and stared off at the lake. 

He followed her, standing next to her and following her gaze. The lake was large and there were people sailing boats through the clear blue waters. 

“Westley told me you wanted to apologize,” she said, breaking the silence, “I wasn’t actually expecting you to.”―she paused before continuing―“You’re different, Malfoy.”

She didn’t tear her gaze from the passing boats.

“You’re different too, Granger.” he told her, turning to face her profile. 

She was looking out at the lake but he could tell that her mind was far away. She hadn’t recovered from the war, he realized. Maybe she wasn’t dying, maybe he was wrong. Maybe Hermione Granger was just dealing with her trauma from the war the only way she knew how, alone. 

He knew she had Potter and Weasel, they had after all been inseparable, but she had always stood out from them. Even though she had them, she had still spent a great deal of her time alone. He knew, because he had spent much of his time alone too. Back at Hogwarts, he had often found himself alone in the library, or the courtyard, and most times she was never too far away from where he sat, always alone too, with her head buried in her work, or simply reading a book. 

After another minute of her watching the lake, and him watching her, she turned to face him.

“Your five-minutes are up,” she told him as she pushed herself away from the railing and started walking out of the gazebo.

“Granger, wait,” he called after her, taking a step toward her and holding onto one of the large columns framing the stairs of the gazebo.

She turned from her position at the foot of the stairs to look up at him, and he blurted out his question before she could walk away again.

“I was hoping you could give me a tour of the club. As I said yesterday I haven’t been here in many years, and although you said everything’s remained the same, I find I don’t remember it as well as I thought.”

She seemed to think on this for a minute, her head tilting slightly to the side, before she responded. 

“Meet me on the terrace in thirty minutes.”

He nodded, and with that she walked away. The wind had picked up speed and it tore some curls loose from her bun. Draco found that he couldn’t look away. She stopped and pulled her hair completely out of the bun, all of her curls blowing freely in the wind for a brief moment before she gathered them back and secured them once again at the nape of her neck. He hadn’t realized how much he had come to expect seeing Hermione Granger with her thick mane of curls falling around her head. He pushed the thought away, he had more important things to worry about than Granger’s curls. 

He found a seat at an empty table on the terrace and took this time to look over his notes. He had written down several possible secondary curses and toxins that the blade could have possessed, as well as their countercurses. All of them were slow acting, but a year was nearly unheard of for someone to survive their effects. This was worrying. If he couldn’t trace the curse from the diagnostic then he would have to consider taking her to see a specialist, and that was something he was certain would be nearly impossible to convince her to do. 

He was just thinking up names of specialists he had met during his time training at the ministry when Granger appeared next to him. He startled, and scrambled to put away all of his notes before she could get a chance to read anything.

“You’re very jumpy,” she said, leaning back on the table, her hands gripping the edges as she observed him with a blank expression.

“People usually make their presence known before they just jump in front of someone,” he said pointedly, as he put the papers back into his pocket and rose from his seat at the table.

“All I did was walk up to your table,” she said as she moved to stand in front of him, “what did you want to see first on your tour?”

“I thought we could start with a tour of the grounds and then move to the main building,” he told her.

He would need to find a private room where he could stun her and run the diagnostic. She would be too out of it after he altered her memories to continue with a tour of the grounds. He didn’t want her to grow suspicious of her sudden tiredness, so he would have to find a place at the end of their tour. 

“The grounds are quite expansive,” Hermione said to him, as she started walking towards the courtyard, “I hope you brought your walking shoes.”

He smiled. If she was back to goading him, maybe she wasn’t as far gone as he had originally thought?

She started the tour at the lake they had overlooked earlier that day. She showed him the docks and let him know what times boats were available for renting. 

She showed him the quidditch fields and the locker-rooms. She let him know who to contact if he was interested in joining one of the club teams.

She showed him the stables and he watched as she showed him the various species of winged horses they had. An abraxan named Lenex was particularly affectionate with her and she conjured a carrot to feed to him. 

“He seems to like you,” Draco told her, as he reached over her to pat the large beast on the head.

With a quick, featherlight movement, he slipped his other hand around the end of Hermione’s wand that she kept in the pocket of her too large cardigan, sliding it discreetly into his own pocket. She was too distracted with the horse to notice. 

“He was really sick a while back, the magizoologist said he wouldn’t make it,” she told him, as she smoothed her hand over Lenex’s nose, “Luna and I spent everyday for a week researching and we tried every magical solution we could find, just when we were running out of hope, he came around. He’s been very attached to us ever since, but me more so, since he only sees Luna at his quarterly check-ups.”

“Lovegood is a magizoologist?” he asked, although he wasn’t entirely surprised.

“Well training to be one, she’s pretty incredible.”

“I don’t doubt it.” 

Draco had gotten to know Luna fairly well when she had been a prisoner at his home during the war. He had made sure she had food, books to read to keep her mind busy, and had even offered his own company when he was able. She had never turned him away, in all her time as a prisoner she always treated him like a friend paying her a visit. If she had been afraid, she never once let it show. She was brave, and she was kind. 

He should have done more for her, should have found a way to get her out, but in the end it had been Granger and her golden trio to save her. 

Hermione looked up at him and her eyes gave another subtle twitch before she tore her gaze away, gave Lenex one final pat on his head and turned to head back towards the club.

They re-entered into the lobby from the courtside doors, and she turned down the hall that held the cafe.

“Since you’ve already been in the cafe, I won’t show you it again,” she said to him, as they walked past the cafe and rounded another hallway. 

“This is the ballroom,” she opened the large doors at the end of the hall and revealed a large room with a stage, multiple tables folded in the corners, and a high ceiling enchanted to show a bright sunny sky.

The room was empty, and this hallway was isolated from the rest of the building. No guests should come by. He closed the doors behind him as he followed her into the room.

She turned to face him when she heard the sound of the doors closing.

“What do you think you’re doing, Malfoy?” she asked, he saw her hand reaching for her wand.

“Looking for this?” he asked her, as he pulled her own wand from his pocket and twirled it around in his hand.

Her emotionless façade was all but forgotten in that moment. Her eyes shone with fury, her chest heaving with enraged breaths, and her hands fisted at her sides.

“Don’t. do this. Malfoy.” she said slowly, her body shaking with what he imagined to be the effort to restrain herself from lunging at him.

“I was fully expecting you to tackle me once you realized,” he said to her, as he slowly took a step in her direction, “Calm down, Granger. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I want to help you.”

“Stop. Don’t come any closer,” she ordered, her voice echoing in the large, near empty room. He halted his steps. “ _Help_ me? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I know about your condition,” he said, holding her gaze.

A gasp escaped her lips, and she seemed to be frozen still. Her eyes widened for the briefest moment before returning to their cold emotionless state.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she said, never moving her eyes from his.

He had to give her credit for trying to keep up her act when she was in such a vulnerable position. 

“You don’t have to put on an act around me. I’d have to be blind not to have noticed that you’re wasting away.” he took another step towards her, “Let me help you.”

She let out a slow breath, all traces of the fury that had been there mere moments ago erased, and began walking towards him. When she was merely inches away from him she stopped.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Malfoy.” she held out her hand in front of him, “give me my wand, and we can pretend this never happened.”

He looked down at her auburn eyes, her lips in a tight line, his breath fanning the hairs framing her face. She was so calm. She really believed he would give up so easily?

“Let me help you, Granger,” he said again, “you don’t have to deal with this alone.”

Her hand flinched away and back down to her side, a look of shock washing over her. She grabbed his arm that held her wand but he was stronger than her, and faster. 

He had planned for this, but after the way she had acted towards him today, he had hoped it wouldn’t come to it. 

“Stupefy,” he breathed, his arms wrapping around her before she could fall to the floor.

But instead of being rendered unconscious by the spell, the red swirls of magic bounced off of her and engulfed the room in red light. 

She grabbed hold of his forearms, and her eyes flashed open. They shone a piercing, completely unnatural shade of gold, and a wicked grin spread slowly across her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! It ended on a cliff hanger!! But I really wanted to end it there and I'll still be updating chapter 3 on Saturday as scheduled.
> 
> I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for two weeks with that ending so I decided to bump up the posting schedule for this chapter so you only have to wait a little less than a week in between updates instead of two. :) 
> 
> I hope you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update, I know I said I'd have this up on Saturday but alas my coursework didn't allow for it. I'm working to get ahead a chapter so that updates will be on time from now on!
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter!
> 
> See end note for content warning.

Loud determined pattering echoed in the empty corridor. She looked up, half-expecting to be met with a fleet of centaurs―it was only Westley. He was stampeding straight towards her, his brown curls flying above his head, and a wide grin plastered across his face. 

His cacophony of footsteps abruptly concluded and he grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a rather indelicate shake.

“You are NOT going to believe this,” he beamed, smiling down at her and ending the personal earthquake that he was subjecting her to, “your unruly guest has returned, and get  _ this _ ,” ―he leaned in closer, that ever present mischievous glint in his eyes brighter than ever, as he whispered enthusiastically―“he’s here to  _ apologize _ !”

She blinked up at him, certain she misheard. Apologize? Then it occurred to her that he must not be talking about Malfoy. She never did describe the unruly guest to him.

“I don’t think you’re talking about the same person I saw yesterday.”

“Oh no, I  _ know _ I am,” he shot back, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you underestimate my deductive reasoning skills Hermione Granger, when will you learn that I am all knowing?” he shook his head in amusement, “Trust me. This is your guy in the lobby and―”

She tried to cut him off there but he wouldn’t have it.

“ _ And _ ,” He continued, “I’m giving you no option but to go out there and accept his apology. It’s for your own good.”

He threw her a devious smirk and she knew him well enough at this point to know that he would not relent until she humoured him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder guiding her down the hallway, nodding her head in mock attentiveness as he spouted on, most likely about how grateful she should be for his presence in her life. 

She really was grateful. She couldn’t have asked for a better companion in her self-mandated isolation than Westley French. She had never once lost her temper with him. It was nearly impossible to look at that easy smile he always wore and those soft green eyes, and find any reason to want to lash out at him. As for his well-intended meddling, she had learned very early on that if she simply played along, she would ultimately win at his game. 

He was constantly telling her that she needed to have some fun, that working at a country club was not a serious enough profession to keep her from experiencing everything life had to offer. He was always inviting her on trips away, trying to set her up on dates, insisting she go visit her friends, but she would always find an excuse for being unable to. He never stopped asking though, if there was one thing about Westley―his determination was boundless. 

They reached the front desk and Westley gave her a push towards Malfoy. Westley was eagerly watching their interaction―the same way a small child would eye an ice-cold popsicle on a hot summer day. Malfoy requested they find a new location for their conversation, not particularly fond of the audience, and she led him out to the gazebo overlooking Lake Circe. 

The irony wasn’t lost on her that the place where she had come to control and contain the beast within her rested on a lake named after a Greek goddess who turned her enemies into beasts. She had always found Circe’s tale empowering, that a woman scorned was not one to be overlooked. All she wanted now was to be overlooked. She was afraid of what she was capable of and refused to risk anyone’s life by opening up to them. 

“You have five-minutes, Malfoy.” she said looking up at him. 

The sun was shining directly into her eyes and she could hardly see him. She was just starting to think it was better that way, that not seeing his face would make it easier to dissociate the voice from the man standing before her, when he stepped in front of the light and cast a shadow over her face. She was once again looking into the pale-grey eyes of this man. This man, that for some reason had an unrelenting desire to torment her. 

“I wanted to apologize, Granger,” he said, “I was a dick yesterday. I shouldn’t have badgered you after you told me your reasons for working here.”

Even though Westley had informed her of Malfoy’s reason to request a private conversation with her, she had not allowed herself to accept that an apology was his true intention. She looked at him, really looked at him, before turning away. She had seen Draco Malfoy as many things in the time she had known him...

_ A boy, callous and sneering, looking down at her. She is filth; he is stainlessness. _

_ Dizzying flashes of white-blond hair pulling her focus, always isolated. Always alone.  _

_ His familiar silhouette beside a fireplace. Her agony blazing through her, flooding the space, charring the walls. All she hears is his silence. All she feels is his empty gaze. All he does is watch. He is unmarked by the dying flame.  _

_ A man; sentient eyes of marble, twisting, searching. This time there is no silence. This time, in those swirling marble pools, her flame is reflected back at her. She remembers the allure of its relentlessness. She stares back, longing to recapture it, longing to crumble―tangled in its fiery wings.  _

“Westley told me you wanted to apologize,” she said, pulling her mind away from the swarming memories, “I wasn’t actually expecting you to.”―she paused before continuing―“You’re different, Malfoy.”

She didn’t turn to look back at him, didn’t want to see the fire blazing in his pale-grey eyes. 

“You’re different too, Granger.” she heard him say. 

She could only hope that he would never find out just how different she really was.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


“Granger?” he called to her, as she smiled widely up at him, a strange gleam he’d never seen in her before present in her now gold eyes, “Are-are you alright?”

Why had the spell backfired? He had never seen that happen before unless someone put up a blocking charm and that was impossible. He had her wand. And her eyes...he’d never seen someone’s eyes change color like that. She wasn’t an animagous...could it be a possible side effect of the curse?

She let out a cold, rippling laugh that echoed throughout the room. He felt a shiver ripple through his body as she slid her hands slowly up his arms, straightening herself. Her face was mere inches from his and she made no effort to move away. She ran a hand through his hair and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Better than ever,” she whispered next to his ear, her breath ghosting his neck, “In fact I should be thanking you.”

“Thanking me?” he looked at her in bewilderment. 

“Quite right, I haven’t had the luxury of coming out during the day like this in some time…” she moved away from him walking in front of the large windows on the opposite wall. She let out a long breathy sigh, leaning her head back and spreading her arms wide above her head, basking in the early afternoon light.

“Gods that feels incredible,” she moaned, turning to face him again, her head tilted to the side as she surveyed him. 

“Granger I don’t-” he started. 

“Shhh,” she shook her head, “let me do the talking handsome, it’s been far too long since I’ve had the  _ pleasure _ .”

She pursed her lips before throwing him a smirk, walking towards him slowly. Like a predator circling their prey. 

“You’re far more handsome than she gives you credit,” she said as she circled around him letting one slender finger trace around his arm and across his back before resting on his chest.

“She?” he was at a loss. Did she have an alternate personality? Was there some magical parasite living in her body?

“Well, I should say  _ I _ , but she’s made sure to keep this part of her,  _ me _ , separate. She’s such a bore, won’t allow herself to have any fun. But I think you can change that.”

She was looking up at him through hooded eyes, her words breathy. 

“How?” he asked.

She laughed and shook her head.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, handsome. I can hear your pulse, I know what you want, what you’ve always wanted, but been too ashamed to allow yourself to take.” she stepped closer and ran her thumb across his lower lip. 

He couldn’t move away, it was as if he were frozen in place, as if the stunning spell had hit him.

“You can have it, you can have me,” she leaned in, her lips brushing against his, her breath mixing with his, “if you set me free.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him.

“Will you help me, Draco?” 

He looked down into her golden eyes, and he was lost. The words left his mouth before he could process them.

“What do I need to do?”

“Gain her trust, earn her friendship, and when the time comes, go to her on the full moon. I’ll handle the rest from there.”

The full moon? He had so many questions he wanted to ask her but all were lost to him when she placed a slow kiss on his cheek before unwrapping her arms from his neck. Her kisses moved the line of his jaw. She bit the skin just under his jaw below his ear and her tongue moved quickly to soothe the abused skin. 

He had planned to pull away. He should have restrained himself, but feeling Granger on him, feeling her hands, her mouth. He couldn’t stop himself from giving in. He had wanted this for so long.

He reached out to her, pulling her into him. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips. He gripped her head by her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her head back exposing her neck to him. He kissed her neck over her pulse point, his hand moving under her backside as his other hand was lost in her curls. Merlin how often he’d thought about those curls, about feeling them around his fingers. 

She traced her tongue down his throat, her hand moving through his hair while her other travelled lower. She palmed his already aching erection through his trousers and he felt himself harden beneath her touch. His breath hitched and he let out a groan. 

She crushed her lips to his and immediately deepened the kiss. Her tongue moved expertly against his and he pushed her up onto the windowsill, his fingers tracing up her legs to her inner thighs. He pushed away her panties, angling his thumb at her clit and gently teasing her already wet entrance with his middle finger. He pushed one finger inside of her just as her hands wrapped around his shaft, twisting at the base before starting to move up and down.

“Oh, God...Draco,” she moaned his name into his mouth.

She loosened the collar of his shirt until she could run her hand across his bare back. The feeling of her hand on his bare skin sent shivers through his body. He never wanted this moment to stop.

“Hermione,” the whisper of her name left his lips and she froze beneath him for a second, before slowing their kiss, and her hand on his cock. 

She went agonizingly slow and he followed her movements, his thumb slowly circling her clit. Her head fell back as she dug her nails into his shoulders and tightened her knees around his hips. She tightened around his curling fingers, and he quickened his pace, her mouth open letting sweet moans escape her as her climax overtook her. He watched her in awe, she was so breathtakingly beautiful―her cheeks flushed pink, her hair tousled from where his fingers had been, and her lips parted slightly swollen from his kisses.

She dropped her head back down, resting her forehead against his, her mouth open and panting before she looked back up at him through her lashes, with her brown eyes. When had they gone back to brown?

She was still moving her hand up and down his cock and after three more pumps, he let out a guttural groan into her hair as his release washed over him. 

She performed wandless magic to clean up the mess, placed a soft kiss on his cheek, and brought her hands to rest onto his chest. Her legs fell from his sides. She looked down, away from him, and her shoulders started to shake as her breathing quickened, and he felt the guilt wash over him. Was it even her who had wanted this?

“Granger…” he placed his hands gently on either side of her face, lifting her head up to face him. Her eyes were wet with the tears she was fighting to hold back.

“I’m sorry, Granger.” he said, his voice shaky, he brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, “I don’t know how―I should’ve―I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

“No,” she moved her head until her forehead was resting on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her small frame, “don’t apologize.”

He held her close, feeling her chest rise and fall with every breath. They stayed like that for several minutes until she broke the silence. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” she said, as she leaned back to look up at him.

“I don’t know what I would possibly say to anyone,” he admitted, “What was that? What happened to you?”

“Please don’t ask me that, Malfoy,” and the heartbreak in her voice, the pleading look in her eyes prevented him from prying any further.

He would find the answers on his own, but he needed to know one more thing.

“Was that still you when...do you remember what you said?” he asked. He had to know if she and the version of her with the golden eyes were the same.

“I always remember,” she whispered.

“So this has happened before?” his eyes bored into hers, he hoped she would see that he was genuine in his concern.

“It has.” she offered, moving her hands from his chest so that they rested on the window sill, on either side of her thighs.

“I can’t tell you any more than that, it’s not safe,” she shook her head, “I’m afraid you already know too much…”

“I don’t know anything,” he refuted, moving to rest his hands to her shoulders, “I can help you, Granger.”

She scoffed, “Don’t you dare pity me, Malfoy,” her eyes hard and her knuckles white from gripping the edge of the windowsill, “I don’t need your help, I’ve done perfectly fine on my own.”

Her voice betrayed her with those last words and he knew that she hadn’t been handling it well on her own. Did anyone know what was happening to her? Surely she had confided in Potter and Weasley at least?

“Who have you told?” he asked her, “does anyone know?”

“Only who needed to know.” 

He could tell by her curt tone that she wouldn’t divulge any more information to him, not right then at least. He nodded his head in response. 

“Meet me tonight.” he said, “I know a place where we won’t be seen, we can have dinner and talk freely. You won’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.”

She laughed and pushed herself up off the windowsill so she was standing in front of him now. Her face had returned to the cold façade he had grown accustomed to. 

“You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy, this won’t be happening again.” She smoothed her skirt and went to retie her hair. 

“I only said we could talk, I-”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” her words were meant to be demeaning but her tone faltered and he could see something flashing in her eyes. She was afraid.

“I meant it when I said I wanted to help you, Granger. Let me prove it to you. You said yourself I was different. I’m not the same boy you knew at Hogwarts just as you aren’t the same.”

“You don’t know  _ anything _ about who I am.” she growled, pushing on his chest and shoving him backwards away from her with a force he wouldn’t have thought her to possess. 

He righted himself and stepped towards her again, looking her dead in the eyes.

“I could, if you trusted me.”

She brought her hands up again as if to push him once more, but seemed to decide against it, letting them fall back to her sides.

“I can’t.” she bit out, turning away from him, “Just stay away from me.”

“Granger!” he called out, and she stopped where she stood in the center of the ballroom turning her head to the side, “your wand.”

She turned around and he walked over, holding her wand out to her. She reached out to grab her wand and before he let go, it hummed and vibrated in their hold. She gasped and he let go. She looked down at her wand and then back up at him for a brief moment before tightening her grip on the handle and walking hurriedly away.

She was out of the ballroom before he could get another word in. What was that? 

How could she expect him to stay away now? That wasn’t an option. He would get her to trust him. He had to find out what was happening to her. When she had her golden eyes she had said to find her on the full moon, to  _ free _ her. He had only heard of the full moon in relation to werewolves, but knew that certain spells and curses were stronger when cast on a full moon. 

She could be a werewolf, but he hadn’t paid enough attention during that part of their lessons. As far as he knew werewolves didn’t change eye color and they only turned on a full moon, but being a werewolf could explain her pale complexion and weight loss. When had she been turned? Who had turned her? It must have been Greyback, but she had fought during the battle of Hogwarts, she couldn’t have managed that while suffering from a werewolf bite.

He marched out of the ballroom and straight for the floo. Westley tried to stop him but he shoved him out of the way. He had a lot of research to do before tomorrow. He would be back here to have lunch with Theo, Blaise, and Pansy and he vowed to have an answer for Granger’s condition by then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: elements of dub-con in this chapter.


End file.
